Soldier's Things
by Metal-Gear-Eva
Summary: A series of one shots focusing on the realities and effects of war, seen through the eyes of different characters. Part 7 focuses on Bluestreak and his experiences in battle.
1. Ultra Magnus

**Disclaimer: **'Transformers' does not belong to me. It belongs to ye olde Hasbro. The title 'Soldier's Things' is taken from a song by Tom Waits, I take no credit for it.

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It was a sound like no other that Ultra Magnus bellowed when that fatal shot hit him. The ground shook with a groaning finality; the last place he would touch, function and feel in the tangible universe. He had been many places and seen many things, all of them encompassed by this war. A flickering thought danced across his processor, one he'd had many times before. One where he wished he could see the universe without war. He'd never have that chance now, but hopefully his efforts would ensure others did. He had lived and breathed war, wherever they had gone, it followed. It tried to crush his ideals, hungered to corrupt him, but could not do so. Ultra Magnus never faltered in his beliefs, it was for that reason that he was a pillar among whom many rested on. Even as he lay dying before his time, being kicked and beaten by Decepticons, he absolutely believed that someday there would be peace and harmony. War could not go on forever; time changed everything. No enemies were timeless, he firmly believed. 

The beating suddenly ceased. Instead, it was replace by a large foot, square in his back.

"You've died for a worthless cause, Ultra Magnus," The voice snarled.

Magnus turned his head, resting it on the hard floor, "I've fought for peace and justice…until the end…for what I believe. My death…will not be in vain,"

"Can you say the same for the many other Autobots that have died horribly? Has anything changed? No. Think of all those who have given their lives up for your pathetic, lost cause..."

"Your words…do not fool me…Galvatron." Magnus struggled to speak, feeling like his entire chassis was caving in on his internal systems.

"You are dreaming Ultra Magnus, as you always have been," Galvatron chuckled darkly.

Magnus ignored him, continuing, "No Autobot dies in vain…we risk our lives so that… many more may live…in the future!" Magnus could feel himself slipping further. Things were beginning to close in around him, his world was gradually disappearing… But Galvatron would not let him go peacefully.

"FOOL!" Galvatron cursed, forcing his foot further into Magnus' abused back, "Admit you are wrong, and maybe some of your comrades won't suffer as much! It is why you are dying right now!" Galvatron paused, "You were wasted with the Autobots Ultra Magnus…such a pity. Under my rule, Cybertron will prosper. It will become the most powerful body in the universe, advancing my conquering of everything else.

"Where does it end…Galvatron…your greed will ultimately lead…to your own destruction…as it does with all tyrants…" Magnus could no longer see. Every word was an effort.

"Never! My way is the only way! In the throes of death, you must see the errors of your ways! Admit you were wrong!" Galvatron pounded him.

"'Til all are one," Magnus uttered, fading.

"Say it!" Galvatron shouted, adding another blow.

"'Til all…are one…"

"NO!"

"'Til all…are one…" He said until he spoke no more.

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**A/N:** Originally, it was Metgatron in this part instead of Galvatron, but i realized that didn't make much sense for continuity sake (I have no idea why this didn't click with me in the first place.), so that has been edited.Thanks for reading, reviews are always appreciated! The next part will focus on Sunstreaker, which I'll be doing after completing chapter 5 of Energon. 


	2. Sunstreaker

**Disclaimer: **'Transformers' does not belong to me. It belongs to ye olde Hasbro. The title 'Soldier's Things' is taken from a song by Tom Waits, I take no credit for it.

"His rifle, his boots full of rocks  
And this one is for bravery  
And this one is for me  
And everything's a dollar  
In this box..." - **Tom Waits 'Soldier's Things'  
**

* * *

One hit was all it took and he was down. Pathetic, was his first thought. He'd been shot so many times before, but it seemed this one had just hit the jackpot. He was certain this was it. The bullet with his name on it had finally found him, and had made its new home in his chassis. The first thing that came to his mind was Sideswipe. All he could think about was that he couldn't leave him behind, couldn't leave him on his own. His mind was coming up with all these reasons why he couldn't go, as if it would make a difference.

The battlefield was hot. He could still hear bullets snapping past above him. The sounds of the battle begun to fade, the shouting, the screaming, the shooting…it all merely became distorted background noise. His mind began to wander. He found himself thinking over his crazy life, and everything seemed clearer than it had ever done. Simpler.

He was just a soldier. He was disposable. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had always known that things would end like this, and he had always look upon it with both fear and fascination. Funny though, he'd always thought it would be filled with more glory than this. He'd always pictured dying in battle to be an honourable thing. But instead, he lay on some filthy, destroyed ground, far away from home, feeling energon filling up his throat and pouring out of his mouth. This wasn't how he'd imagined it at all. There was no honour in this, he thought.

He no longer cared about being awarded medals for valour, bravery, for making the ultimate sacrifice. They couldn't be taken with him where he was going. He didn't care about being put to rest with his rifle across his chest, it was useless to him now. He didn't even care how he looked anymore, they could just pound the dents out of him if they wanted to make him look a bit more presentable when they sent him off. He'd be just another number when he was gone. One of millions of soldiers whose lives had been consumed by this never-ending conflict.

He suddenly felt overwhelming sorrow, felt it choking him. He didn't want to be forgotten, to be lost in the history of a bloody war. At least if someone remembered him, he'd still live on, if only in another's memory.

The world suddenly began to become darker. He had suffered excessive energon loss and was no doubt about to offline, before the inevitable. Then he heard a voice…

"You ain't going anywhere just yet…"

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**A/N:** This part of 'Soldier's Things' will actually cross over into another part focusing on someone else. Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed so far, it's extremely appreciated! 


	3. Ratchet

**Disclaimer: **'Transformers' does not belong to me. It belongs to ye olde Hasbro. The title 'Soldier's Things' is taken from a song by Tom Waits, I take no credit for it.

I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. I read and appreciate every single one :)

"See you're thinking. Don't. Cuz' Sergeant, you can't control who gets hit or who doesn't or who falls out of a chopper or why. It ain't up to you. It's just war." – **Hoot, 'Black Hawk Down'**

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You never get used to seeing your comrades hurt. Every time I see someone injured or killed, it's always a reminder of how stupid and pointless war is. Being a medic, I see all the most devastating effects of war, what it leaves behind. All the robots it ruins, mentally and physically. It is my job to fix the broken, and decide when someone is too far-gone to help. In the heat of battle when you have numerous casualties, you have to prioritize- who are you able to help and save there and then, and who must be left to die. Making a decision like that just once in your life is too much. 'How do you do it?', some ask. I simply tell them it's my job and walk away. How can I tell them that a little part of my spark dies every time I make that impossible decision, that I'm forever haunted by the faces of the mechs that I left to die? They're left to die agonizing deaths with no one beside them most of the time to even hold their hand. It's a sad way to go. No one should have to die like that. 

Dodging bullets and shooting off a burst every now and then of my own, I duck, running over to a prone, unmoving Sunstreaker. I'd be down myself by now if it weren't for Prowl and Ironhide giving me covering fire. The Decepticons are as fierce as ever.

I reach Sunstreaker and kneel down beside him. He doesn't look good at all.

"You ain't going anywhere just yet…" I tell him. I get no response.

I begin assessing the situation. One of his arms has been blown clean off, and he's taken an armour piercing shot square in the chest. Of all the places. He's been in so many battles, it was gonna happen some time. Inspecting the damage to his chest, the first thing I automatically check is his spark casing. It's burnt and a little out of shape, but it's done its job of protecting what's inside. I already know from the energon pouring from his mouth and chest that a number of fuel lines have been severed. He'll get by without his arm, but not by loosing all this energon. I determine immediately that Sunstreaker is a T1 casualty, the most serious. If he is not immediately taken back for repairs, he will loose the fight. I can only do quick fix-ups in the field, and it just ain't gonna cut it this time around. I do what I can now to get the energon flow under control and contact Prime. It's time to get him out of here.

* * *

Riding in the back of Prime's trailer, I do not move an inch from Sunstreaker, using my own hands to stunt some of the energon loss. I stare intensely at my battered hands, unmoving, soaked in my comrade's energon. I look up slowly when I hear Sideswipe sigh shakily. He is sat down with his head in one hand, covering his optics. He is trying to be strong for his brother, trying to hold it all in. He's struggling to do so. He is the picture of the war-torn warrior right now; filthy, covered in dents and scratches, and probably battling hundreds of emotions in his head. The war has worn him down. I've witnessed how much he and others have changed over the course of the war. It steals all innocence and makes mechs old beyond their years. It devastates. 

After all I've seen, I know I will never be able to live a normal, peaceful life if the war ever ends. I'm not crazy, but I'm not well. I will always be haunted by the screams of mechs I could not save and left to die. But as long as this war goes on, I will fulfill my duty as a medic, and I will continue to save all the lives I can. It is my job, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

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**A/N:** I really enjoyed writing this one, I loved getting in Ratchet's mind. If you can spare a moment, please do tell me what you think with a review. The next part will focus on Hot Rod. Thanks for reading! 


	4. Hot Rod

**Disclaimer: **'Transformers' does not belong to me. It belongs to ye olde Hasbro. The title 'Soldier's Things' is taken from a song by Tom Waits, I take no credit for it.

Thank you so much to everyone that's reviewed so far. Reading all your reviews really puts a smile on my face, I really appreciate it :) I think this one came out quite different to the others, and it's a bit longer. I hope it's different in a good way.

"**Only the dead have seen the end of war"** - Plato

* * *

Hot Rod shifted slowly, adjusting his position. He'd been lying on the ground long enough to be getting horribly stiff joints and dirt in unmentionable places, along with his apprentice. Yes, apprentice. The 'adrenaline junkie with a death wish' teaching another in the skills of combat and battle. Hot Rod had never imagined it either, but Kup had insisted it was a good way of reigning in his wild ways, and had told him he thought he had potential for that kind of thing. He had been right. Hot Rod had to admit that there was something quite enticing about being given the extra responsibility. 'Bots did have a little faith in him after all. 

It seemed like they had both been stuck here for a vorn. They hadn't had contact from anyone for quite awhile, and Hot Rod was beginning to feel increasingly isolated and alone. He would not voice this though. As the saying goes, "Officers should never run, it worries the men." The lack of activity was wearing him down. They were filthy, uncomfortable, and Hot Rod was aware of his sharpness decreasing, something dangerous in this situation. Sometimes, Hot Rod wished he wasn't bound by a code. He was naturally a free spirit, but he had made a commitment in desperate times. He was a soldier and had to do as he was told, he could not refuse orders because he did not like them.

"Still no change," Cloudburst sighed, scanning the entrance to the Decepticon bunker they were observing below.

The same mech had been on sentry for quite some time now. They were tasked with establishing and recording the Decepticons sentry duty roster. 'Knowledge is power' as Prime often said, and this information would aid the Autobots, or so higher said. How many times had he and others put their lives on the line to gather information like this, only to be told later that they no longer had any use for it? It infuriated Hot Rod.

"Hmmm," Hot Rod hummed, scanning in his self, "Perhaps they haven't got enough bodies. It would definitely work to our advantage. Heh, they've probably been bluffing about the number of reinforcements they have."

"Didn't Magnus bluff about our reinforcements?" Cloudburst asked, turning to look at him.

"Yes he did, and it's ULTRA Magnus to you. Strange, I haven't heard from him in a while…" Hot Rod couldn't deny he felt a bit worried when he thought about that. It was extremely unlike Ultra Magnus to not remain in contact with his troops, he knew the importance of doing so.

Both were quiet for a little while. Anyone that knew Hot Rod knew that he could never stay quiet for very long. Most didn't realize however, that it was because it gave him too much time to think, and he didn't like that. It often brought up things he'd rather avoid or forget. He carried too many painful memories after all this time at war, and didn't know how to deal with them.

Eventually, Cloudburst sighed in annoyance,

"When are we gonna get to see some action, Hot Rod? I'm bored out of my central processor and think I'm gonna rust to death if I stay here much longer."

'All rookies are the same,' Hot Rod thought…He'd been like that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wished he could be that young and naïve again. Things were different back then. He'd seen and done too much since then to even remember what it was remotely like…

"Quit your whining," Hot Rod told him, "You should be careful what you wish for. You just might get it."

'Oh Primus, I must be getting old,' Hot Rod thought, 'I'm telling him all the stuff Kup used to tell me.'

"Yes, Sir," Cloudburst said quietly.

"I told you not to call me that. I work for a living, thanks," Hot Rod said blandly.

Cloudburst simply rolled his optics with a smirk at the baited response, and turned back to the mundane task of staring at the bunker.

Cloudburst was a good kid. Sure, he was a bit forward with Hot Rod at times, but it was something that didn't really bother him. When Hot Rod had first taken him under his fender, he had had issues. He'd had extremely low self-confidence, barely spoke, and was nervous to a fault. But not anymore. Hot Rod had made it his personal goal to bring him out of is shell. He'd been painful to look at before. He spoke a whole lot more now, and sometimes Hot Rod wished he could clamp it when he spoke back to him. He'd also shown promising potential for combat, and was almost as good a sharp shooter as Hot Rod. He hadn't had the opportunity to apply all he had learnt in battle just yet though. This was his first serious mission, and he was itching for action, just like Hot Rod had been on his first big one.

"Hey, Hot Rod," Cloudburst said, not taking his optics off of the bunker, "How about we have a celebratory drink after this. Some nice, cold, high-grade…" He smiled at the thought.

Hot Rod snorted in amusement,

"Ha, yeah right. Are you even old enough to drink? You wouldn't be able to hold it."

"Wha?! I can hold my drink just well thanks, and actually-"

"Hold that thought," Hot Rod said quickly, holding a hand up in his face as he observed the bunker.

Cloudburst looked,

"The sentries gone inside," He said, intrigued that something had actually happened.

"Yeah, he _rushed_ back in, something must be up," Hot Rod frowned. Out of the corner of his optic, he noticed Cloudburst tense. The scope of what he was doing was probably hitting home now. Hot Rod had been putting his life on the line for so long, that he'd developed almost a numbness to fear. War could do some scary things to a mech…

"The only thing up is your_ luck_, Autoscum."

Before Hot Rod even had a chance to react, a rifle was shoved roughly into the back of his head. He heard Cloudburst yelp when the same thing happened to him.

"Slag, Cloudburst…" He cursed mentally. They had grown careless through all the inactivity, and had failed to detect Decepticons closing in on them

"Hands on your head, slagger," A gruff voice said, nudging Hot Rod's head hard with the rifle. Hot Rod complied. Normally he'd say something, but he didn't want to agitate them. All he could think about was Cloudburst's wellbeing. His life was his responsibility. He didn't care if Cloudburst had agreed to do this out of his own will, he was young and was probably not fully prepared for what he had gotten himself into. He knew Kup would have been the same with him back in the day. Young mechs just wanted excitement and meaning in their lives. A lot of them believed that fighting in the war would provide them with that. Sadly, most of them were proven sorely wrong…

"You too, brat," The other Decepticon growled. Turning his head slightly, Hot Rod recognized him as Skullcruncher. Not one of the smartest Decepticons.

"Do as he says, Cloudburst," Hot Rod said quietly. Cloudburst was terrified; he was shaking. Hot Rod had never felt so sick in his life. Putting your own life on the line, fine, but when you're responsible for someone else's, someone under your command…Primus, this was all his fault. Cloudburst was not ready for this, he was too young, he shouldn't have brought him on this mission. Their forces were so stretched, it seemed they'd become desperate…

"Please don't hurt him," Hot Rod pleaded, something he'd _never _done to a Decepticon before. He didn't care now though, he pushed all his personal principles aside. Cloudburst was his main concern.

The two Decepticons laughed.

"Why not? Who is he? I've never seen the runt before." Hot Rod recognized his captor's voice as Apeface.

"Me neither, what makes him so special?" Skullcruncher sneered.

"He's…just an apprentice. Let him go, he doesn't know anything. He's just a sparkling."

BANG.

Everything suddenly slowed down, all sound disappeared…Hot Rod struggled to process anything…

Then everything came back in full force…

"NOOOOOO!" He shouted in horror, as he witnessed Cloudburst's head come apart, pieces flying everywhere, hitting him in the face.

"NO NO NO NO NOOO!" He frantically tried to spring up, but was roughly restrained. This was not happening, this could not be happening, he thought.

"Hey," Skullcruncher chuckled loudly, "At least he didn't see it coming."

"HE WAS JUST A SPARKLING!" Hot Rod screamed, feeling himself break down. He'd never felt such helplessness. Such confusion at such cruelty…

"He was just an innocent sparkling…he'd never even fired a shot in battle…never got to celebrate his first mission…never…" He choked, staring at one of Cloudburst's hands, lying lifelessly open. He felt utterly defeated.

Skullcruncher grinned at him.

"He didn't know anything, he's was no use to us." He smirked.

"You said it yourself. Always go running your mouth off, don't you?" Apeface said.

Hot Rod felt him self weakening, overwhelmed with horror and guilt. It was his fault Cloudburst was dead, his fault for bringing him on the mission, his fault for letting his guard, his fault for being a bad mentor... He looked down at Cloudburst's still body.

"No…" He closed his optics.

"Time to take the prisoner back to base for interrogation," Apeface snickered.

Hot Rod did not resist or attempt to fight. He let him self be dragged. He deserved whatever he was going to get, he believed. He didn't have it in him to fight; whatever he had been fighting for had suddenly become void, lost. Fighting would not bring back Cloudburst. Conflict only brought about more death. He was sick of death.

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**A/N:** This is very different to when I first wrote it, I changed it a lot because I wasn't happy with it. I think I still have some mixed feelings about it. If you can, please do let me know what you think with a review. Thanks for reading! 


	5. Smokescreen

**Disclaimer: **'Transformers' does not belong to me. It belongs to ye olde Hasbro. The title 'Soldier's Things' is taken from a song by Tom Waits, I take no credit for it.

Once again, thank you so much for all your reviews! I can't tell you how much i appreicate them :) Also, a quick note i just wanted to add before the story- a deca-cycle is equivalent to 3 weeks according to Simon Furman.

* * *

Time had become meaningless to him. He'd lain in waiting for his target patiently, with dedication and discipline. Waiting for that perfect shot. He was on an area of raised land, just a distance away from a Decepticon occupied building. The surroundings were slowly swallowing him up, trying to make him one with them. 

He was so excited when they had given him this task. An extremely important mission that could give them a big advantage over the Decepticons, if achieved, they had told him. They had chosen him for it. He'd accepted gratefully, filled with honour when they'd put that sniper rifle in his hands. Soon after, he was dropped off here. Left alone to complete this top secret, critical mission that they had entrusted especially to him. He was determined not to fail them; so many were relying on him. Once he had the Decepticons communications officer in his sights, he would be no more. He still hadn't come out yet, but Soundwave couldn't hide in there forever.

He'd barely moved an inch since he'd been there. All his joints were locked up, and his gradually fading optic was poised down the sight of the rifle. His armour had taken on a look of complete neglect and his meta processors had long begun to fail. He was running completely on reserves. Not once did he take his sight off of the building however, oblivious to everything else. That glitch would have to come out sooner or later, he thought, no one had entered or left since he'd been there. He knew Soundwave was in there causing more problems for them, getting Autobots killed. He would be saving so many lives getting rid of him. The Autobots would reward him greatly. They would decorate him with medals and lavish him with praise. Everyone would know what a great deed he'd done, they'd shake his hand and thank him- mechs would admire him and his bravery. Smokescreen felt his fuel tank churning, he couldn't wait.

One of his favourite things to do was imagine what would happen once he had Soundwave in view. He had it set out perfectly in his head. He would aim straight for the centre of the crest on his head. As soon as the shot hit home, his head would come apart, pieces of blue and red and silver shattering in all directions as his headless body collapsed to the ground. He always imagined it in slow motion. He thought about it almost constantly, perfecting it. Sometimes he imagined shooting Soundwave's deck compartment too, hoping to hit some of the cassettes inside. He clenched his jaw at the thought, they would not get away either, no. He chuckled lightly as he imagined them flying out of the dead Decepticons chest, one by one as he shot each one of them down, blowing them to pieces. It was beautiful, he thought, It was like art what the bullet could do!

He turned his attention back to the dark building again, reminding himself strictly that he must remain focused, when he heard something. It was coming from somewhere behind his position. He would not move. He would not miss his shot. It sounded like the engines of a ship; he heard voices. His audio receptors were highly sensitive after having spent so long in silence. He heard more movement, running. He would not move.

"I found him!" He heard a familiar voice say, closing in on him. They stopped behind him, and he was aware of others doing the same. He remained still.

"Hey, Smokescreen!" A cheerful voice said.

He didn't respond.

"Smokescreen?" The voice asked, more serious this time. He recognized it as Jazz.

"The target," He simply said, quietly.

The four Autobots behind him exchanged worried glances. Cliffjumper frowned.

One of them moved slowly around to the side of him.

"Smokescreen, do you know how long you've been out here for?"

It was Kup. Getting no reply, he continued,

"Smokescreen, you've been out here for over a deca-cycle. Do you realize that?" Kup was alarmed by Smokescreen's strange behaviour.

Smokescreen was taking no heed of what Kup said however, all that mattered was his task. He would not be distracted by them.

"You think he's lost it?" Cliffjumper asked Mirage quietly, beside him.

"I...don't know," He murmured, watching the scene before him intently. He felt increasingly uneasy.

Jazz walked around to the other side of Smokescreen, crouching down.

"Smokescreen, buddy, we've come to take you back. There was a big mess up. That buildings been empty since before you even got here. The Deceps' ditched it ages ago."

Kup continued,

"They've been strained and overworked…they actually forgot they'd left you out here. It's not one mechs fault in particular…just down to bad intel and lack of communication. I'm sorry this happened to you, lad," Kup finished quietly, feeling bad for him.

"The target," Was all Smokescreen said.

Kup and Jazz looked at each other and nodded. They each grabbed an arm and attempted to hoist him up,Kup trying to take the rifle off of him as he did so.

"NO!" Smokescreen screamed, suddenly engulfed in hysteria, "THE TARGET!! I WILL NOT LEAVE UNTIL I'VE GOT THE TARGET!" He struggled violently.

"Smokescreen, there is no target," Jazz exclaimed, trying to get a better hold of him.

Smokescreen painfully ripped an arm free, grabbing the rifle off of Kup,

"NO! I WILL NOT LEAVE! NOT UNITIL I HAVE THE TARGET" He hit Jazz hard on the head with the rifle. Jazz's grip immediately released. He turned around and saw Cliffjumper and Mirage charging towards him.

"NOOO!!" He screamed, pointing the rifle and taking a shot.

Cliffjumper dropped. Thick, black smoke immediately begun to pour from his chassis. His optics blacked out almost immediately.

"Cliffjumper!" Mirage shouted, dropping to his side.

Kup and Jazz reacted quickly, restraining him before he could do more damage, tearing the rifle out of his hands. Jazz was overcome by shock and horror,

"Cliffjumper…he didn't…" He stared at the still Autobot with wide optics.

Kup was equally as shocked,

"He did…we...better get him back," Kup felt at lost as what to say, "Mirage, get Cliffjumper…lets get back to the ship,"

"NO!" Smokescreen continued to scream, being dragged, "THE TARGET! I NEED TO GET THE TARGET! YOU CAN'T TAKE ME AWAY! HE'S IN THERE! HE'S KILLING US!"

The war had claimed another victim.

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading, please do let me know what you think with a review! 


	6. Silverbolt

**Disclaimer:**'Transformers' does not belong to me. It belongs to ye olde Hasbro. The title 'Soldier's Things' is taken from a song by Tom Waits, I take no credit for it.

I can't tell you all how much I appreciate every single one of your reviews. Thank you so much, it's wonderful being told what people think of your writing. Also, I just want to say thanks to Friend of Leo for giving me the idea to write one of these on Silverbolt. Thanks!

**"I don't need to worry about going to hell. I've already been there."-** Veteran of Iwo jima

* * *

One mistake was all it took, one error of judgement, and he was down two Aerialbots. Silverbolt was no coward in battle, but he knew when to cut his losses. At least he thought he had… The only thing he cared about after was getting his team back altogether and functioning. He hoped desperately to Primus that Fireflight and Skydive could hold out that long 

The flight back to base had him filled with worry and fear. Two of his team were severely wounded and he felt completely responsible- he was in command after all. He'd felt so confident that they'd be able to take on the Combaticons, as they had done before. But this time, they had had a surprise waiting for the Aerialbots, a surprise in the form of a heat-seeking railgun. His first casualty, Fireflight, went down in moments of arriving. Silverbolt watched in horror as he spun in the air and tried to regain control, but it was hopeless. He flew in a huge arc straight into the ground, flipping over numerous times, like a mere toy. He was so struck by the ferocity of the hit that he never even thought to go and try to break Fireflight's fall, as futile as it may have been.

He directed everyone to concentrate their fire at Swindle on the railgun. He thought how foolish that was now. He should have gotten everyone out of there and constructed another strategy with the deadly railgun in the equation. Instead, he had Skydive attempt to rescue the downed Fireflight- when he too was hit. Fireflight had been used as a deadly lure to destruction. Skydive tumbled through the air in flames, spinning in circles at a furious pace. He crashed, pieces breaking off of him and scattering.

He hadn't pulled his team out when he should have, and now Skydive was dying.

He shouted for their wounded to be gathered and for everyone to pull out and retreat then.

The journey back had been in utter silence. They were either too shocked to talk, or had too many things running through their processors to even think about talking. Fireflight had been able to transform to his robot mode, with great pain, and had hitched a ride on top of Silverbolt, barely conscious. Skydive, in his pieces, had been distributed among all three of the fully functioning Aerialbots. As morbid as it sounded, it was necessary.

On arriving back at base, Ratchet and First Aid were already waiting for them, ready to tend to the wounded immediately. As he lowered himself down carefully, Silverbolt noticed the look of confusion on Ratchet's face as he looked up, to see only four Aerialbots. It brought a new wash of guilt over him.

He had pleaded to stay in the operation room beside Skydive as they attempted to put him back together and operate on him, but he had been forced out. When the door slammed shut on him, it was the most deafening sound he had ever heard. He looked down at the floor, staring at the purple liquid trailing all along the corridor and beneath the doors, out of sight. Part of him wished he could follow it through the door, whilst a smaller part of him was too afraid. He stared at his open hands that were also covered in the liquid. Eventually, with great difficulty, he tore himself away from the dreaded door that separated him from his wounded. He had to check on the rest of his team.

He walked slowly to the end of the corridor, and into the musty, old room filled with boxes and crates of ammunition. Slingshot was sat against a wall, looking completely depressed, whilst Air Raid was pacing nervously.

"Is there any news?" Air Raid stopped, asking desperately when Silverbolt walked in. Slingshot looked up.

"No…not yet," Silverbolt said calmly. He had to remain strong in front of his team, even though he was torn apart inside.

Forever it seemed they waited. Barely a word was spoken. It was long, stretched out agony. Eventually, Ratchet came to them, covered in energon and oil. The sight almost made Silverbolt sick.

"I'm sorry," He said quietly, gently, "Skydive's body was ruined and broken beyond repair. His spark remains, but is very weak, and with no where to re-home it, will not last much longer."

The darkness and dread that had fallen on Silverbolt when Ratchet had first began talking, was suddenly lifted with hope. His spark still burned, therefore…

"Use my body! Re-home his spark in my body! I don't care if mine is extinguished, please! It is my fault he is like this."

Air Raid and Slingshot gaped at him, whilst Ratchet looked at him like he'd gone mad.

"Are you crazy? His spark is so weak, to even _risk _extracting it would undoubtedly extinguish it."

Silverbolt was shaking with desperation,

"I don't care, he'll still have a chance at least, otherwise he will die anyway!" Silverbolt pleaded.

"Silverbolt, get a hold of yourself!" Ratchet said sternly, "The risk is simply not worth it, I wouldn't lie about such a thing. Besides the point, you are commander of the Aerialbots, your team and the Autobots need you," He stared Silverbolt intensely in the optics.

"What does that mean? Are you saying my life's more important than my team's?" Silverbolt looked at Ratchet in confusion.

Ratchet was silent for a little while, before he spoke again,

"…Yes, Silverbolt. That is what I'm saying. If we loose one of our commanders at this critical moment in time, we will be crippled. I'm sorry. It's cruel, I know. I don't make the rules. This is war," He finished, sadness in his optics.

Silverbolt simply looked horrified. He'd _never _considered himself more important than any of his team. He didn't want to make _sense _of what Ratchet was saying. Completely deflated, he spoke once more, quietly,

"You will not allow me to attempt this, then?"

Ratchet turned his head away,

"As Chief Medical Officer, thereby outranking you…" He sighed, "no."

Silverbolt was speechless. He barely noticed First Aid coming into the room, behind Ratchet. His face was full of sorrow and his entire being looked defeated. Ratchet turned to him and First Aid simply shook his head. The action told Ratchet everything he needed to know. He held a hand over his optics for a little while, before speaking again.

"I'm sorry for your loss. For all of our loss," He said quietly. He looked Silverbolt gently in the optics, before leaving to return to the operation room with First Aid.

Silverbolt stood unmoving. He had never felt so crushed throughout the entire war, despite all he had seen. He had never felt so helpless… At the back of his mind, he had sometimes wondered how he'd cope with the loss of one of his team. He realized he wasn't really coping at all...

He moved in a trance-like state to the operation room. He walked over to the table where Skydive lay, partially pieced together. He sat beside him and grasped one of his cold hands with both of his. Ratchet and First Aid left quietly without a word.

He sat there silently, lost in processing. He thought about his skills as a leader, doubting them, the result of them before his eyes, he believed. The best a commander could do was complete a mission successfully, and get all under his command out alive. He had achieved neither this time around. Being a leader had never been as painful and difficult as now. The questions and doubts begun creeping into his circuits, spreading like a virus. Were all the burdens and hardships of leadership really worth it? Worth _this? _Could he carry on like this, risk loosing more under his command, risk loosing more of him self mentally? How would the rest of the Aerialbots look upon him from now onwards? Surely this tragic event would forever taint him in their optics?

He was so tired of war, and hurt and loss, having to live with it everyday like it was _normal._ He wanted nothing more than the war to end, but that only seemed possible if he kept on fighting, and he was oh so tired of fighting.

He sat in the operation room silently, grasping Skydive's hand like that for cycles. Eventually, he spoke,

"Until we meet again, Skydive." He smiled sadly, as he rested his hand back down gently, and left.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading, and please do let me know what you think with a review! 


	7. Bluestreak

**Disclaimer: **'Transformers' does not belong to me. It belongs to ye olde Hasbro. The title 'Soldier's Things' is taken from a song by Tom Waits, I take no credit for it.

It's been a long time since I've updated this, and wrote anything anything in general. I believe it's been half a year since I last wrote something, so hopefully this has come out okay. I apologize to anyone who's been waiting on anything, I know I have commitment problems. I'll be quiet now.

**"****There's a frame I can't change  
That I just have to watch again  
Reminder repressed inside me  
It keeps repeating****" **- Lacuna Coil - To the Edge

* * *

War. Who really wants it. You might be surprised, but I actually know a few 'bots who live for it, who love nothing better than fighting, like Sunstreaker and Roadbuster. Let me tell you though, when you see your whole city crumble before your optics, the whole populace wiped out- except for you- you really see the true meaning of war. Mindless destruction. A timeless evil.

I never wanted to fight in a war.

However, long since that day, I've carried contradictory thoughts on the matter. On one hand, shouldn't I be glad to be fighting the twisted evil that destroyed my home? Preventing them from causing the same pain I suffered to others, and avenging all the lost innocents of Praxus? On the other hand, does fighting, doing what the enemy do, make me any better than them? Fighting in a war, where innocents are always casualties, and destruction and carnage are all part of the package?

I still don't know exactly where I stand on the matter, but as I experience the current situation before my very alert optics, I'd say I'm leaning more towards the latter,

I can't recall the name of this planet, that being one of the furthest things on my central processor at the moment, but it's not much different from a desert wasteland. Except for the local fauna that likes to sample anything that moves, though the Decepticons seem to have developed an 'appropriate' way of dealing with it (namely, blowing them to slag). We, however, are under orders to leave the fauna be, and just stay out of its way. After all, we protect life, not blow it to The Pit.

Cautiously looking over the clump of rocks we have taken cover behind, I scan the mass of Decepticons in the distance, who, unsurprisingly, outnumber us. You see, in general, we are stretched thin right now. If Central Command is in a bit of a flurry about this (which I bet they are), they're sure keeping quiet about it. But then, they have to maintain an image of professionalism, no matter what the case, you know. It can't be easy at times like this. What the Decepticons are doing here is a complete mystery, but all we know is this: They ain't moving from that spot. They're up to something. Or they've found something.

Having been sent to deal with them, I hate to say we're not doing to good. We've got a number of Autobots who have been injured or maimed from Decepticon fliers who have been running strafing rounds on our position. We also have a few dead.

"They're just playing with us at the moment," Mirage knocks me out of my thoughts, just a few metres to my left.

Leaning with his back to a rock, he is busy reloading his shoulder missile launcher, in preparation for the next Decepticon flier that comes our way. Even further to my left, Sideswipe adds, for all to hear,

"The next Deceptiscum that heads this way is gonna get a kiss from my FIST!"

He sounds like he's enjoying this a little more than he should be, but I haven't come to expect any less from Sideswipe.

"But Sides," I shout to him, "Your jet packs been dried out for…forever."

"Details, details," He just sings, absent-mindedly.

I worry about him. He can be such a stressful friend to have, with all the danger he willingly throws himself into. I can't imagine how the twins deal with each other, BOTH being like that…

All of a sudden, out of the relative hush, a loud whistle-like sound is heard, getting closer and closer…

"MORTAR!" Hounds shouts, nano-kliks before it impacts the ground, metres behind our position. Diving so quickly to the floor that I feel energon jump up my throat, I throw my arms over my head and hope for the best.

This is followed by the feeling of hot metal powerfully speckling parts of my body, and bitter energon flooding my mouth. Then the sound of screaming.

Not my screaming. The screaming of other Autobots not as fortunate as me.

Pushing myself back up onto my knees, I swallow nervously and observe the damage. Despite my audio sensors still ringing painfully from the blast, the sounds of the screams of the injured do not fail to make me feel physically sick. The crippling agony of these screams…you can never forget them.

One Autobot who was metres away from the sight of impact, has such a badly melted face and body, that I can't even recognise who he is. I put a hand over my mouth, staring in horror as his screaming stops when his mouth component melts away…he topples to the ground. I feel all the energon in my fuel tank attempting to make its way up my throat and escape through my mouth, but with great effort, suppress it.

Slowly turning my head, I see a number of dead scattered on the dusty ground. All of whom, nano-kliks ago, were alive and functioning, talking or thinking. Now they are just empty husks.

"They're just softening us up for a strafing round- gunners, have missiles at the ready!" Hound shouts, supporting a young Autobot who is crying, with half an arm missing. The poor kid has obviously cracked under the pressure and pain. Those that crack are just as much casualties as the injured. I suddenly feel a great rush of admiration for Hound, as I notice how composed and serious he's keeping himself- a good officer never panics his soldiers.

"Hey, Blue, that means you," Mirage reminds me as I'm still watching Hound.

"Sure, I know, already on it" I answer, turning around and prepping myself.

As sure as Primus, in the distance, a jet is approaching. A Seeker. Skywarp.

"Slag," Mirage curses beside me, the Seekers often being problematic, to say the least. That probably explains partly why the twins enjoy scrapping with them so much.

"Everyone, lock onto the target," Hound instructs, voice steady. He then says something under his breath that I can't make out.

Focusing forward, I feel my energon pumping, working hard to support my heightened senses- if I get out of this alive, I will be seriously burned out for a while, I'm talking megacycles. Actually, that doesn't sound to bad if it means surviving this.

"BRING IT, YOU OVERRATED SLAG PILE!" Sideswipe rallies, sticking a finger in the air.

Immediately after he says this, a number of us- including myself- gasp, as Skywarp suddenly disappears in plain sight with a flash. Locking systems mysteriously loose their target.

"Uh oh," Sideswipe says flatly.

In a cracking flash, warping the area around him, Skywarp reappears directly to the side of us, weapons blazing,

"DIE AUTOBOT SCUM!"

"TELEPORTING MOTHERFRAGGER!" Roadrocket shouts from somewhere behind me.

In a frenzy, I try to get my missiles locked on him, which, let me tell you, isn't an easy job for someone that moves as fast as him.

"Come on, come on," I urge myself, as I watch Skywarp swoop down and begin his strafing run on our position.

Autobots topple like toy soldiers. My audio receptors are again flooded with the screams and cries of the injured and dieing. And the unmistakable cackle of that twisted slag heap, Skywarp. Laughter and crying. It's deeply unsettling.

Suddenly beside me, with a cry of anguish, Mirage fires his missile, and I literally feel the 'whoosh' of it. I watch it speeding towards its destination (Skywarp's aft) in desperation. It hits one of the retreating Seeker's thrusters. It's the only one to reach its goal, as all other attempts failed hopelessly. I couldn't even get a target. Mirage timed it just right.

I hear cheering by the uninjured, as they witness black smoke gushing from the Decepticon as he attempts to head back from where he came and crash land. The cheering quickly subsides however, as if everyone suddenly remembers all at the same time what damage he's left us with. There's an uneasiness to the fast mood change I can't explain.

"Looks like we got lucky," Mirage says calmly, but I notice his shaking, "He didn't even touch the edges, most of the middle took it."

I nod anxiously, turning to look behind me, where most of the damage was dealt. It's chaos.

"Slag this for a game of toy soldiers…" Sideswipe says, shaking his head as he regards the carnage.

I watch as Ratchet and First Aid move around quickly, yet professionally, trying to sort out the injured by level of severity. The dead are quickly looked over and left. As cold as it seems, nothing can be done for them now.

Some of the injured wail in agony, clutching severed limbs, or gaping holes and torn circuits within themselves. Others sit in shock, unable to make a sound, looking into nothing…I find these to be the most disturbing…

"Everyone, hold your positions," Hound addresses us all steadily, though not quite as steady as before, "Central Command have a shuttle incoming for our retreat. We're outnumbered and outgunned. There's nothing we can do here…" Hound finishes, slightly dejectedly.

I can tell Hound didn't enjoy telling us that. And Sideswipe didn't enjoy hearing it…

"So what, we leave the Decepticreeps to do as they like here? What about all our injured? And dead? Are you telling me they died for nothing?" He fumes.

I can completely relate to what Sideswipe is saying, but also know that, ultimately, this isn't Hound's choice. Wiping soot off of my face with the back of my hand, I look over at Sideswipe,

"Side's, I know what your saying, but this isn't up to Hound,"

He looks at me briefly, before Hound speaks up,

"Listen Sideswipe," Hound says quietly, stepping closer to him, "I'm giving you the orders that _I've _been given. I'm just as unhappy about this as you. But if we stay, we'll just end up with more injured and more dead. No one wants that. We may have lost this battle, but that doesn't mean we've lost the war. We're just stretched too thin right now, and don't have the required backup." He finishes looking at Sideswipe sincerely.

Sideswipe frowns, turning away defeated,

"This is a slagging joke. Central Command needs a kick up the aft…"

I know how much Sideswipe hates losing. Especially losing comrades. I know him well enough to know that he probably feels crushed right about now, but he'll hide it behind his childish temper…just like how I hide my problems behind all my talking.

I turn to the closest mech to me, in need of conversation,

"Hey, Mirage."

Staring at his pistol and examining it closely in a dazed like state, he doesn't seem to hear me.

"Mirage?" I ask, becoming somewhat worried.

"Yeah?" He finally looks up a few nano-kliks later. As odd as this sounds, it just doesn't seem to completely be Mirage looking at me right now.

"You…you okay?" I asked.

He ignores my question and goes back to staring at his rifle again.

"Blue, did you hear about the Decepticons executing that group of neutrals recently? Then those two Autobots that tried to stop them…seems to be getting out of hand lately…"

Suddenly I feel my circuits heating up at an alarming rate, my hands starting to twitch. I see Mirage's mouth moving, but I'm not hearing him.

All of a sudden, I'm back in Praxus.

Black smoke floods my olfactory sensors and mouth, its thick tendrils curling all around me, choking me. My sight is limited through all of it, as it billows around like a menacing entity. However, it's not enough to stop me witnessing the slaughter all around me. Not even the slaughter of Autobots: the slaughter of innocent city mechs, who less than a cycle ago, were going about their everyday life. Now, the spectacular shining towers of Praxus are no more than flaming rubble heaps. The Assembly- a massive dome structure that served as a place of education and enjoyment, in subjects such as science, art and teachnology- is no more than a smouldering pile of scrap. The Decepticons blitzed it, and those inside it, so much, that a vicious red heat emanates from it.

Dead mechs litter the floor like a carpet, some on fire, some blown to so many pieces, as if to insure that there would be no hope of survival. I remain frozen where I am, unable to do anything but observe. The familiar memory of feeling paralyzed begins to flood my memory banks…

Then, mere metres away from me, I see a Decepticon aim his rifle at the head of a terrified mech, who doesn't even have time to plead for mercy before his head is blown to the tiniest of pieces The pure brutality of it causes my knees to give way beneath me. I cry out at the horror of this mass execution, for the death of innocents, for the insanity of it all, for my burning home…

The sky over Praxus is red,

"…Blue, answer me already, are you okay?" I hear Mirage asking as I blink my optics, realizing where I am once again. It takes me a few nano-kliks to orientate myself completely. Even so, my head still feels a little cloudy. I suddenly feel bad for Mirage, wondering how long he's been trying to get through to me.

"Blue, you okay?"

"Are any of us really okay?" I hear Sideswipe ask sarcastically, though I detect a hint of seriousness in that…

"Yeah, I'm fine. As fine as can be, given the situation, you know," I answer a bit faster than I intended, just wanting to reassure him, though I am not fine "Sorry."

"Stop being so sorry all the time, just keep yourself alive," Mirage says dully.

Not quite knowing what to say to that, I just nod. I quickly look Mirage over, who is now staring out blankly across the distance, and realize how worn he is. Worn and no doubt mentally fragile. I take this lull in action to take a look around at all the other functioning mechs, and realize that that description could probably be applied to nearly every one of them. Some mechs look completely downtrodden and lifeless. Others look frighteningly alert and restless. One mech that catches my optic, is sitting with his head in his hands, swaying gently side to side…I can't help but think how many of them secretly want to just break down and cry now, or just completely loose their minds.

Hound's voice pulls me away from my observations,

"Okay, the shuttle is landing a klick behind our position, it's as close as it can safely get. We're gonna have to watch our backs as best as possible whilst retreating, as we will be extremely vulnerable. We're going to adopt the leapfrog strategy for our retreat. Starting with the front liners retreating first, up to-"

Hound's instructions are cut short by the all-to familiar sound of a mortar shrieking towards us.

"TAKE COVER!" He shouts, as everyone automatically hits the ground, in anticipation for…

Nothing.

After waiting a little while, I wearily lift my head. Looking around, I notice many others doing the same.

"No boom?" Sideswipe asks curiously

"Maybe it's a dud," Someone shouts out.

Suddenly the eerie silence is filled with hushed chatter. Watching other mechs slowly get back on their feet, I cautiously follow suit, relieved that I'm not hearing the sounds of shredded and melting mechs, but at the same time, confused as to why I'm not.

"Everyone stay away from it," Hound instructs.

Rotating my shoulder, I wince, having slammed it into the ground pretty hard. I see some mechs laughing with each other about the Decepticons failed mortar attack. I don't know how they can be laughing at a time like this, perhaps it's from nervousness. I turn to Mirage, when suddenly I hear screaming,

"ITS NOT A DUD! ITS NOT A DUD!"

I spin around and watch in confusion as a mech I'm unfamiliar with, runs to where smoke is sifting from the ground- where the mortar landed- and throws himself on top of it, smothering it. Nano-kliks after he does so, the mortar blows.

We all hit the ground again. However, the explosion is nothing like the last. Rather than being blasted with searing pieces of scrap, and having the energon sucked out from inside us, we are instead hit by a smaller amount of scrap and, horrifically, pieces of the Autobot who sacrificed himself for all of us.

Unable to move, I lay still on the ground, gasping. Completely shocked by what I have just witnessed. Scared…

"Holy…" Hound breathes, standing up. I've never seen him look as stunned as he does now. Slowly, he walks over to where the mortar exploded. Pushing myself up, I find myself uncontrollably following him.

Standing besides Hound, trying to contain my shaking, I look down at the scene. All that remains is a black hole in the ground, and very few pieces of singed metal. I feel strangely...numb as I look at it.

"What an Autobot…"

I can't say anything, I just stare blankly at what remains of the Autobot. I don't even notice until I look up that a crowd has gathered.

After a few moments of silence, Hound turns away, and hesitantly speaks.

"He will be honoured in death for what he did. This will never be forgotten," He pauses for a moment, "However, we must now continued with our retreat. We cannot risk anymore casualties."

"But we can't just leave them all here!" I blurt out, losing control over my vocaliser, "We can't just leave them alone!"

I know what the Decepticons do to dead Autobots.

"Bluestreak, you know we will retireve the bodies when we're able to," Hound tell's me quietly, walking away. Everyone else slowly begins to disappear.

Suddenly, I feel myself crumbling, and everything hits me right there. Everything that I have seen, all the awful things of war, suddenly seem to be flooding back to me all at once. I stare back at the black hole, feeling my emotions engulf me. I suddenly feel overwhelming pain for the Autobot, feeling incapable of just leaving him here, regardless of the thousands of pieces he's in. And the rest of our dead, they'll just be left here alone, like ghosts in the desert. I know what it's like to be left alone. As much as I want to protest to anyone that will listen to me, for once, I feel myself unable to speak. I feel completely hopeless as I realize there's nothing I can do. I want this all to just stop, to end. I don't want to fight anymore, I don't want anyone to have to fight anymore. I don't want anyone else to die meaninglessly in this war.

I never wanted to fight in a war.

**A/N:** Thank you for reading, and reviews are always appreciated.


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